


A (not quite) tinder date

by NohaIjiachi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Getting Together, Human AU, M/M, Meet-Cute, Top Crowley (Good Omens), kink meme prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:03:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23120161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NohaIjiachi/pseuds/NohaIjiachi
Summary: “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry—“ A man said, breathless, plopping himself down in the chair. He sounded like he ran a marathon. “Got held up at work— I couldn’t even check my phone! I’m so terribly sorry!”Aziraphale would’ve beamed, at that. He would’ve immediately declared that it was no problem, these things happened, so no worries at all— Except the guy currently catching his breath in the chair in front of him was definitely not his missing date. That was unless he’d decided to shave his beard, make his hair grow magically, and dye it red.“I—“ Aziraphale croaked, confused. The man tipped his chin down, glancing at Aziraphale above the rim of his darkened glasses with a surprising set of honey-coloured eyes, and winked at him. Aziraphale closed his mouth. “I— It’s quite alright. I’m glad you, huh— Could make it—“
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 94
Kudos: 788
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations





	A (not quite) tinder date

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote for [this prompt](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=2275673) on the GO kinkmeme : D There's also a lil' illustration at the very end of the fic which is NSFW, so watch out if you don't want anyone to see that from behind your shoulder!

It was taking all of Aziraphale’s willpower not to sniff loudly. He tipped his chin down, blinked repeatedly, and subtly dabbed his nose with a tissue.

It was a quarter to nine. Forty minutes after the time he supposedly should’ve met with his date.

“Give it a chance, would you?” Gabriel said, smiling his loan-shark smile, earlier that week. “Some… Activity would benefit you. Really, I had no problem with this app!”

And Aziraphale fell into it, like the idiot he was. Why did he fell into it? Speaking with a perfect stranger through the world wide web, and expecting things to really pan out the way he envisioned— What an idiot.

He took out the brand new smartphone he found himself buying -and being confused by for most of the week- after getting himself convinced by the guys at the office, and felt his heart sink just a little bit more at the lack of any alert. He did not bother to check if the messages he sent through the dating application were actually read by his missing date. It was clear this was not happening.

He sniffed again, very quietly.

_Idiot, idiot, idiot_, he reprimanded himself bitterly, _you should’ve known there was no way— Who would really bother with you? Why even try, anyway? You are perfectly fine spending your evenings at home, reading— Whenever you go along with yet one more of Gabriel’s insane ideas you always get burned. Should’ve learnt better, at this point._

He glanced at the clock again. Only a minute had passed. He felt like time had slowed down to a snail pace ever since he sat down at that table… He really ought to just get up, thank his waiter for her patience, and walk the walk of shame out of there, under the eyes of everyone who surely took a single look at this man sitting alone at a table prepared for two and figured out exactly what has happened.

The idea of doing that was doing very un-funny things to his stomach, though. Maybe… Maybe he’d wait just five more minutes…

He jumped at the noise of wood against wood as the other chair was moved, looked up already panicking. Surely it was the waiter coming to tell him he ought to go, he was just occupying a table other customers might want to use—

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry—“ A man said, breathless, plopping himself down in the chair. He sounded like he ran a marathon. “Got held up at work— I couldn’t even check my phone! I’m so terribly sorry!”

Aziraphale would’ve beamed, at that. He would’ve immediately declared that it was no problem, these things happened, so no worries at all— Except the guy currently catching his breath in the chair in front of him was definitely _not_ his missing date. That was unless he’d decided to shave his beard, make his hair grow magically, and dye it red.

“I—“ Aziraphale croaked, confused. The man tipped his chin down, glancing at Aziraphale above the rim of his darkened glasses with a surprising set of honey-coloured eyes, and winked at him. Aziraphale closed his mouth. “I— It’s quite alright. I’m glad you, huh— Could make it—“

The stranger gave him a toothy smile, and grabbed one of the menus with nimble fingers, cheerfully saying, “so, what’s good around here?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, finally allowed his shoulders to drop (he’d been hiding into them for almost half an hour. His neck _hurt_) and tipped his chin up, grey eyes rapidly scanning the area. No one was paying them any attention, seemingly all focused on their own meals and their own company. His waiter, a cheerful young woman with a single strand of black hair dyed blue, met his eyes over another patron’s head and smiled at him. He replied with a tremulous smile of his own.

“The spaghetti with marinara sauce are to die for,” Aziraphale declared, proud of himself when his voice came out just a little bit rough. He cleared his throat softly. “Goes very well with the house red.”

“Sounds heavenly. Very well, I’d be happy to trust your judgment,” the stranger replied, smoothly putting the menù back down. He then tucked a strand of red hair behind his ear. Aziraphale found himself following the movement of those long, almost delicate looking fingers despite himself. “I hope you weren’t bored as you waited.”

Just a dust of pink rose to his cheeks. He had to be obvious, hadn’t he? If this stranger figured him out so quickly—

This stranger with bright red hair long enough to brush his shoulders in soft waves, long strands collected in a messy bun on the back of his head to allow full view of his face. His very, very beautiful face. On top of the glimpse of those warm eyes Aziraphale was prized with, he could now see that this stranger looked quite fetching. Thin, inviting lips, a vaguely crooked nose that definitely gave him some character, and those _cheekbones_. The lines of his neck ran right down to his very visible collarbones poking through the v collar of his very snug, dark grey shirt, and he seemed to have very strong, angular shoulders under that black coat.

The pink on Aziraphale’s cheeks intensified. He worked his throat.

“It is quite alright, really! I had the chance to enjoy a play I’ve been wanting to see for quite a while this afternoon, so I was just… Thinking about that.”

“Oooh, just an occasional hobby or are you a theatre connoisseur?” the man asked, leaning in to rest his pointed chin on his palm, a crooked little smile pulling at his mouth. Aziraphale had no idea of how, but this stranger somehow seemed to pour a sense of genuine interest in that simple question. Aziraphale’s smile grew a little less indecisive.

“I have to admit I do quite enjoy live performances. I cannot afford to go as much as I wish, but I still try to watch every new play at least once.”

“Was it a showing of ‘The king of prey’, by any chance? I went to see it myself earlier this month and have been _dying_ to talk about it with someone…”

Aziraphale’s mouth hung slack for all of one second, and then he positively _beamed_. He felt no insecurity as he launched himself in a thick, enthusiastic back and forth with this man, the both of them sharing opinions about their favorite characters, which moment they loved the most, how they felt during the play. Not even the brief interruption to take their orders managed to break their discussion, which only shifted naturally from there to go through their tastes in music, literature, good food…

Time, which seemed to have stopped to a torturous standstill as Aziraphale waited for his no-show date, was now running back again. If only, it seemed to be wanting to make up for the inconvenience, because as their plates were emptied, and their glasses of wine polished, Aziraphale belatedly realized he just spent three hours chatting with a perfect stranger he did not even knew the name of for three full hours. They felt like maybe twenty minutes, top.

“Goodness me, look at the time,” Aziraphale exhaled, after glancing at the clock, and the now more than half-empty room. “I bet they must be begging for us to go, so they can start closing down…”

“Mmmmh,” the man with the red hair replied, and slinked himself out of his seat with a sinuous movement. Aziraphale felt his eyes go just a bit wide. This man was _very_ tall. And those _legs_— “I could do with a walk… Want to join me, Angel?”

Aziraphale’s mouth snapped close. _Angel_—

“Yes. Sounds delightful,” he managed to say, somewhat wheezy. The man smiled at him with a crooked smile that was already growing familiar in Aziraphale’s eyes.

They briefly, good-naturedly bickered at the till, when Aziraphale tried to pay for both of them only for the man to whip out his own wallet. In the end they agreed to just share the cost of the meal, except the red-headed man snuck in a order for a bottle of red to-go as it was his turn to pay, and held a hand up with a mischievous little grin as Aziraphale tried to protest.

They walked out under the orange-tinted city lights, the man whistling cheerfully while dangling the unopened bottle of wine between two fingers playfully. They walked, turned the corner, and then Aziraphale stopped.

“…Thank you,” Aziraphale said softly, crossing his fingers in front of his belly. “That was very kind of you.”

“Mmmh, don’t sweat it,” the man replied, voice soft. “I’ve got one too many nights going down like lead balloons myself. I know the feeling.”

Aziraphale chuckled at that choice of words, looking up. The man was smiling at him, little lines at the corner of his eyes visible from behind the lenses.

“Still, I have the feeling my night went much better than it could’ve gone had I met with who I was originally waiting for. I know it sounds rather silly, but— I would like to know your name, now.”

“I’m Anthony— Crowley. Would rather have you call me Crowley. Sounds cooler. And I would like to know your name as well, Angel.”

Aziraphale chuckled, a little, high-pitched noise, cheeks pinking yet again. “I’m Aziraphale—“

The man— Crowley rose an eyebrow over his glasses. “Isn’t that quite the important name.”

“I wouldn’t say that… It’s mostly just a mouthful—“

“Oh, well. Wouldn’t mind filling my mouth with you at all,” Crowley interjected, cheekily, causing Aziraphale’s face to heat up some more.

He worked his throat nervously. He has never been one for casual nights spent in someone’s bed, Aziraphale… He much preferred slow and steady. Getting to know someone, spend some quality time with them, before…

Well. Maybe that was exactly the reason why Aziraphale has had so very little partners in the course of his life.

And Crowley— Well, he clearly was quite a kind man. Very good conversation partner, with tastes that seemed to mostly align with Aziraphale’s own. Empathetic enough to figure out Aziraphale’s situation at a first glance and reacting accordingly—

And was very handsome to boot.

“…You are not a serial killer, are you?”

Crowley froze for a moment, stunned, and then threw his head back, laughing with gusto.

“I can’t blame you for being suspicious, I guess,” he then commented, still chuckling. Aziraphale let out a little huff.

“I’m not suspicious, just—“

“I suppose I have been a bit too forward,” Crowley interjected as Aziraphale trailed off, his voice softening. “One night stands mustn’t been quite in your tastes. I apologize.”

“Don’t apologize. You are right, but— Huh—“

“…But?” Crowley encouraged gently, when Aziraphale hesitated again.

“…Let’s go on that walk,” Aziraphale muttered.

—

They walked, and chatted some more. Crowley told him how he had his own little flower shop in Mayfair, and Aziraphale told Crowley how he had his own little bookshop in Soho, except his terrible habit of getting attached to the books tended to get in the way of trying to make a living out of that only, so he tended to round the bills with a part-time job in accounting.

“It’s not exactly glamorous, but I’m rather good at it, and it pays well,” Aziraphale said, hands collected behind his back as they kept lazily strolling. “…Could help if my co-worker could be less— Nosy.”

“Mmmh?”

“They— Mean well I suppose, but they can be a bit too… Unabashed. Our manager in particular, Gabriel… Really loves to get all close and personal. He seems to think that butting his nose in everyone’s private lives is a good way to promote team-work, and all that corporate jargon.”

Crowley let out a disgusted noise, smacking his mouth like he licked something distasteful. “That’s the reason why I decided to go self-employed. Capitalism is gross.”

Aziraphale let out a huffy chuckle. “You have a point. I’ve been wanting to just… Leave that job for the longest time, but then I keep thinking about the holes I’d need to put in my own collection in order to keep the lights on and I just— Can’t. I’m lucky I at least only have to work part-time.”

Crowley hummed his understanding, before adding, “so, is this Gabriel lad’s fault you ended up in that situation, tonight, huh?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes. He went on and on about these… Dating applications for months until he wore me down. I knew it was a bad idea,” he sighed again, taking the smartphone out of his pocket. “I can’t believe I even bought one of these. I was doing perfectly fine with my old telephone—“

“Well… I wouldn’t say it was a bad idea. You were just unlucky and accidentally picked a jerk, but— Besides, that’s a good model. You probably won’t need to change phones anytime soon.”

Aziraphale fingered at the screen. He was still slightly flabbergasted by the fact this thing didn’t need _buttons_, as he unlocked it on a page with mostly pre-installed applications and a default background.

Then the phone was plucked out of his hands. He stopped, mouth opening slightly as Crowley circled his shoulders with an arm, the bottle of wine he was holding gently thumping Aziraphale in the ribs as he was pulled in closer. He watched as Crowley opened the camera with self-assuredness, leaned in to push his cheek against Aziraphale’s hair, and snapped a picture of the both of them. He then let go, his thumb flying on the screen some more.

“There you go,” he then cheerfully said, giving the phone back. Aziraphale glanced at the screen, and for what he could understand, Crowley seemed to have sent the picture he just took to a number that wasn’t in Aziraphale’s contacts. “Sent myself a little keepsake of this night. And now you have my number,” Crowley added, tipping his chin down to wink at Aziraphale over the rim of his glasses again.

He really had quite beautiful eyes.

Aziraphale worked around a knot in his throat. He really preferred slow and steady… Knowing someone before…

He imagined how it might feel, to invite Crowley in his flat, or to go with him to his shop. Step into the dark, slide that deep black coat off of Crowley’s shoulders, touch his slender hips, kneel in front of him and—

“…Are you going to drink that alone?” Aziraphale asked, voice coming out a little rough. Crowley seemed to freeze for a second, and then the arm that first circled Aziraphale’s shoulder sneaked back on where it was, the bottle pressing back in the same spot as before.

“I would love to share,” he said, voice lowering. “I can call us a uber—“

Aziraphale, who had no idea what an uber was, tried to wet his suddenly dry mouth, murmuring, “lead the way.”

—

Half-way through the ride toward Mayfair Crowley leaned in and nipped at whichever portion of Aziraphale’s neck was currently uncovered, making him shiver. When they both climbed in the backseat their ride gave them a gruff nod, and seemed to have been keeping eyes well on the road, as if he knew exactly what was going to happen in the matter of minutes.

Aziraphale somehow couldn’t get himself to lean back. He wasn’t even drunk, for goodness sake! But Crowley was so warm, so solid near him, as they sat closer than necessary. His hand on Aziraphale’s knee felt like burning coals, and his breath caressing Aziraphale’s ear as the man nosed at his hair with a little, trembling sigh, tickled pleasantly. He relaxed against Crowley’s shoulder, unconsciously tipping up his chin as if to expose what he could despite the collar of his shirt sitting snug around his neck, and Crowley took his chance.

Aziraphale somehow managed not to moan loudly, biting down on his lower lip. This wasn’t him— He’s never been so shameless, never— The idea of letting a man he just met suck a hickey right on his neck, while sitting in the back of a car driven by another stranger, would’ve sent him into embarrassed panic only a few hours earlier.

But now, he didn’t want to stop.

Crowley’s lips detached from Aziraphale’s neck with a tiny pop, and he sat back up as the car slowed to a stop. “Well, that’s our place,” he said, cheerfully practical as he climbed off the car and guided Aziraphale to stand on the curb with vaguely weak knees. “Thanks, mate. Five stars _for sure_.”

“Have a good night,” the driver replied with a knowing little smile, and then drove away. Aziraphale blushed intensely.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Crowley declared, apparently unaffected as he guided Aziraphale toward a currently darkened shopfront with a reassuring arm around his shoulders, the bottle of wine under his armpit as he fished a set of keys from his pocket and opened the door.

The first impression Aziraphale had as he entered was to be stepping in a small jungle. There was a hearty, pleasant smell of fresh dirt permeating the room, and he could make out in the dark the outlines of an apparently endless amount of potted plants of all shapes and sizes.

“My flat is in the back— Awfully convenient. I can sleep in late as much as I want to,” Crowley continued, a grin clear in his voice, as they slalomed through the greenery. They made it through a door in the back, in a tiny corridor, and then through another door opening onto a big room. Clearly a very modern kind of flat, a single open area with a kitchenette in the corner behind a counter separating it from the rest of the room, a spacious L-shaped couch with a rather big television sitting in front of it, the windows allowing a glimpse of what seemed to be a small courtyard. In another corner, only separated with glass panes that covered absolutely nothing, there was a king-sized bed covered with a soft looking, dark blue comforter.

It was a bed that screamed sin, Aziraphale thought gingerly, before realizing that maybe that was just his own brain suggesting very inappropriate things—

He shivered when Crowley leaned on his neck from behind, nosing the short hair at the base of Aziraphale’s head, stamping a small kiss on his skin.

“You get comfortable, Angel, yeah?” Crowley murmured, his breath tickling the humid spot he just left behind. Aziraphale let out a little whine, and nodded.

He gingerly sat down on one of the stools by the kitchen counter as Crowley circled it, putting the bottle of wine down with a soft thud. As he looked around more, trying to get his mind out of the gutter, he noticed more details. The door in a darkened corner surely leading to the bathroom. The cup sitting by a coffee machine near the stove, a basket with some apples by Crowley’s elbow. There was a dresser with a striped scarf thrown on top of it in front of the bed, along some framed pictures, and a beautiful painting depicting a snake on a tree right above the headboard. Shelves lined on the very modern, naked brick wall in the living room corner were choke full of what looked like a collection of records, magazines orderly lined up, books and dvds—

“You’ve got yourself quite the place,” Aziraphale commented softly, impressed. Such a modern, open area had never been something he ever wanted, but Crowley’s brand of ‘lived-in-but-stylish’ gave him a pleasant sensation of homeyness. It made him feel a bit ashamed of his own busy, messy flat sitting on top of his busy, messy bookshop.

“You should’ve seen the state it was in when I bought it. I think the most generous words I could use would be ‘a rat’s nest’,” Crowley chuckled, fishing two tall glasses out of the cupboard above the sink. “It took me an entire year to turn this place into something liveable. I’ve been working on it in bits and pieces ever since.”

Aziraphale hummed, the sense of shame in the pit of his stomach growing stronger. Crowley was clearly a very capable, driven man, whereas Aziraphale was— Not. He liked his comforts and his habits, would rather spend an evening home re-reading an old favorite than going out, was too well set in the same old life he’s been living for ages—

“Well, cheers,” Crowley said softly, leaning onto the counter from the other side with two glasses full of red. He tipped his own just sightly, in a clear invitation, and Aziraphale belatedly noticed Crowley had lost the darkened lenses at some point, allowing him a full view of his eyes. He couldn’t get over how striking they were, framed by dark, thick eyelashes—

Aziraphale gulped softly, and hesitantly clinked his glass with Crowley’s, taking a tiny sip. Crowley drank as well, not taking his piercing gaze off of Aziraphale.

“Food for thought?” he asked, quietly. Aziraphale nervously closed both hands around the thin neck of the glass.

“I’m just— Maybe I shouldn’t have come here,” he nervously admitted, avoiding Crowley’s eyes. “I’m— Sorry. I’m sorry, I’m wasting your time.”

“…We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, you know that, right?” Crowley replied, strangely soft. “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a ride. But if you want to stay and just— Chat some more, I’m game.”

Aziraphale bit down on his lower lip, launching a minutely reproachful look at his host.

“I’m not an idiot, I know what— Situation I decided to put myself into, tonight.”

“I suppose, but you are allowed to change your mind,” Crowley interjected, perfectly calm, as if it was the most obvious concept in the world. “I like to think I’m not a creep, Angel. I _like_ you, and that’s exactly the reason why I won’t want to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Aziraphale closed his mouth, which was hanging dumbly open. He blinked. Looked down at his glass of wine.

“…Why do you call me that?”

“What?”

“Angel.“

At that, Crowley sputtered a little laugh. “Have you seen yourself in the mirror, lately?”

Aziraphale’s heart did something unfunny in his chest, a pang of pain between his ribs stinging like a pinprick. He put the glass down.

“…Hey,” Crowley said, voice suddenly flat. “Aziraphale. Did— Did I upset you?”

“No,” Aziraphale lied, rough, and then sighed. “Yes. But it’s not your fault— I know what I look like.”

“…What do you look like?”

Aziraphale shrugged, nervously rubbing his own arm. “Old-fashioned. Boring. Average—“ his voice lowered, as he sunk into his own shoulders. “Someone who was stupid enough to think they stood a chance with a stranger met on the internet—“

Only silence followed that. A soft noise of glass being put down, and then Crowley circled the counter to stand in front of him. He was almost towering, as tall as he was, while Aziraphale was sitting on the stool.

“You know what I see?” Crowley asked, tipping Aziraphale’s face up with a gentle touch under his chin. “Someone clever and witty. A pair of beautiful eyes I could get lost into. Soft curls I want to sink my fingers in— And a smart mouth I’ve been thinking about kissing for the entire night.”

Aziraphale gaped. He could find no lie in Crowley’s gentle amber eyes, in his voice, in the soft thumb rubbing at Aziraphale’s jaw.

“I see a gorgeous man who knows what he likes, and is not afraid of showing it. Forget that idiot— He has no idea what he’s missing onto,” Crowley continued, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth. “I feel like I’ve won the lottery tonight, Angel.”

Aziraphale’s traitorous cheeks gave up on him again, burning hot, and Crowley chuckled almost fondly.

“That’s what you looked like to me, when I saw you sitting all alone in that restaurant. An Angel sent on earth right for my lucky little self.”

“Look at that silver tongue on you,” Aziraphale muttered back, embarrassed, but did not lean away from Crowley’s touch. He looked on a side, glancing back at that bed in the corner. “…You’ve been thinking about kissing me the entire night, huh?”

“Mmmh.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Crowley was blinking down at him, when Aziraphale turned back to face him. He tilted his head on a side, an almost inquiring air to his expression, and then he leaned down, palm cupping Aziraphale’s jaw.

“You sure?” he asked, a breath away from Aziraphale’s mouth. And Aziraphale leaned up, pressing his lips against Crowley’s.

It was warm, and a bit dry, and then Crowley tilted his head just so, gently pushed Aziraphale’s mouth open with a thumb on his chin, and his tongue darted in, teasing, sending an electric shiver right down Aziraphale’s spine.

Aziraphale couldn’t hold a stuttered moan, which grew louder as Crowley’s tongue breached in again, more confident, slowly dragging against Aziraphale’s. His hands slid down along Aziraphale’s neck, on his shoulders, to stop at his sides and pull him in. Crowley was impossibly warm against him, a feeling that was clear even through three layers of clothing. Aziraphale shivered as he indecisively allowed his hands to land on Crowley’s sharp hips, up along his thin waist, his warm back, hooking fingers into the cloth of his shirt.

“Fuck,” Crowley whispered, hot breath against Aziraphale’s throughly kissed, wet lips. “You taste like heaven.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured back, something warm and heady making him feel impossibly light and impossibly heavy at the same time. “I want you to bend me over that bed, and fuck me until I forget my name.”

“Holy _shit_,” Crowley replied after a second of stunned silence, a little laugh followed. “The mouth on you, Angel— But who am I to say no to such a clear order?”

There weren’t very many thoughts making it through Aziraphale’s mind, as they abandoned their barely touched glasses of wine to head on the other side of the glass panes. Or any at all, really. All attempts to try and form a coherent sentence in his mind were rapidly drowned by Crowley’s mouth back on his, on his neck, his fingers undoing Aziraphale’s bowtie, opening the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. His palms squeezing Aziraphale’s buttcheek, pulling him in, fishing a groan out of him as their erections rubbed through the clothing.

He didn’t think, he couldn’t think, almost drunk on this feeling, on the pleasure Crowley’s deft touches brought out of him, on the sounds he made as Aziraphale rolled his shirt up, snuck in to finally taste Crowley’s naked skin under his palm. Drunk on the wet, messy, needy kisses they kept exchanging, on the noises they were drowning in each other’s mouths as they shed clothing, until they were heaps on the floor and their naked bodies were pressed against one another.

Crowley pushed him gently, making the back of Aziraphale’s knees hit the bed, causing him to sit on the soft comforter. They caught their breaths for a moment, as Crowley looked down at him, at his full thighs shamelessly spread on the bed, his hardness almost painful between them. And Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, at his long legs, the sharp bones of his hips, the hints of his ribs under the skin, the beautiful, red locks which slid out of his bun, messily framing his handsome profile.

“Look at you,” Crowley sighed, breathless, pupils blown wide. “I could _eat_ you— Fucking _hell_!”

A fleeting thought had passed through Aziraphale’s mind as Crowley spoke. The thought that Crowley’s cock looked very, very inviting, and Aziraphale wanted to taste it. So he did.

“Angel—“ Crowley moaned, hips stuttering as Aziraphale gave the head of his cock a good suck. “Fuck— Slow down, or I’m not gonna last long—“

Aziraphale moaned, but then let the warmth in his mouth go with a soft pop, licking the salty taste off of his lips. He quite liked the idea of sucking Crowley off, but he admittedly liked the idea of having this magnificent, beautiful, impossibly kind man make him feel full and open and _raw_ even more.

“And here I was, thinking _I_ could eat _you_,” Crowley commented breathlessly, a sloppy grin pulling at his mouth. “Stay put. I need to grab a couple of things.”

Aziraphale turned his face to follow as Crowley went for the nightstand, opening one of the drawers. He fished a small bottle and a box out of it, returning to Aziraphale, kneeling in front of him as he let the two objects fall on the soft carpet with a muted noise.

“Open your legs for me, will you?” Crowley asked right against Aziraphale’s erection, giving it an obscene lick as Aziraphale whimpered and did just so, pushing his heels on the side of the bed as he spread his thighs shamelessly. Aziraphale let out a tremulous breath, watching with vaguely wet eyes and a mind full of nothing but sheer need as Crowley popped open the small bottle, squirting a generous portion of lube on his fingers.

“Sorry, ’s a bit cold,” he muttered, giving a second lick to the length of Aziraphale’s cock as he pushed against his opening.

For a single moment Aziraphale tensed at the intrusion. It had been quite a while since he last experienced this feeling. He moaned, and relaxed, and Crowley’s finger slid right in, the chilly lube making him shiver.

“There you go…” Crowley murmured, eyes seemingly unfocused as he nuzzled Aziraphale’s soft belly, kissed the head of his cock. “Relax, Angel—“

Aziraphale obeyed instantly, breathing in slowly and softly as he leaned back, elbows sinking in the softness and legs spread open, moaning at each and every little clever movement of Crowley’s fingers inside him. It felt like forever and yet no time at all until Aziraphale was all but a writhing, panting mess, hips stuttering with need, pre-come leaking out on his own belly. He let out a pained, needy cry when Crowley’s fingers slid out of him with a little wet noise.

“Turn around, Angel,” Crowley ordered, in a rough voice that left no space to the imagination. Aziraphale turned, let himself slid down the bed until his knees were on the floor, cushioned by the plush, soft carpet, elbows sinking in the mattress. He heard Crowley groan, and then a soft bite was placed on his buttcheek. “Look at you— So open and ready for me—“

“Hurry up, will you?” Aziraphale grumbled, wiggling a bit. He was probably smearing pre-come on Crowley’s beautiful comforter. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Oh, he talks,” Crowley replied, equally breathless and fond, followed by the plastic noise on a condom packet being open. “Hang in there a second more, you greedy little thing.”

Aziraphale grunted, closing his eyes, imagining what he couldn’t see. Crowley rolling the condom down his glistening, turgid erection, all the way down to where the curls of his pubic hair started. His expression as he did so, biting down on his thin lip, glancing with need at Aziraphale’s open, wet hole—

“Breathe, Angel,” the whisper was right in his ear, Crowley’s elbow landing almost weightless near Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Relax… Perfect, just like that,” he added, trailing open mouthed kisses all along Aziraphale’s back, up to his neck. “Ready?”

Aziraphale moaned, and nodded, and pushed his hips down in search of contact. One last tiny, breathless laugh, and then Crowley melted into a throaty whine, his nimble weight pressing down on Aziraphale, the warmth of his cock sliding in the needy hole left open by his own fingers. Aziraphale let out a choked sob, clenching.

“Relax, relax…” Crowley repeated, so very softly, only ensuing the slow pushing when Aziraphale softened again. “There you are— You feel amazing, Angel… Everything alright?”

“Crowley, _please_—“ Aziraphale whined back, sobbing again when he finally felt Crowley’s sharp hips pressing against his soft bottom, his cock finally fully sheathed in. “Fuck me— Please—“

“As you wish,” Crowley murmured, kissing the back of his ear, and then all the noises that followed where their mingled breaths, their moans and little whines, the slap of skin against skin as Crowley started hammering into him slow, and then fast, and the slow again.

If Aziraphale could’ve heard himself, he would’ve died of embarrassment, surely. But the cries and moans and tiny yelps he released were like a balm to Crowley’s ears, emboldened as he tried to hold back his own pleasure, as he snuck his fingers between Aziraphale’s body and the comforter to palm at his pulsing cock. He was loud, obscene, as he cried and demanded more, as he pushed back against Crowley, the pleasing burn going straight to his head.

Crowley gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, desperately holding back his impending orgasm. The noises his little Angel was making… The way Crowley’s chest was sticking against Aziraphale’s sweaty back, the warmth of his soft body, those thighs Crowley could’ve happily died in between trembling with pleasure— The seed Crowley could feel leaking against his palm as he stroke Aziraphale’s impossibly hot erection, felt it jump in his fingers with every new little spurt.

“Come for me,” he murmured, trembling with need, not wanting to satisfy himself until Aziraphale was completely, utterly spent. “Come for me, Angel. Let go.”

Aziraphale _wailed_, going tense, his insides clenching with surprising firmness around Crowley, his cock twitching as he came generously between Crowley’s fingers. Crowley kept pushing into him, the slap of skin against skin not enough to drown the cries his angel made as he rode his orgasm, until only little sobs resounded in the air, and then he went quiet, breathing heavily.

Crowley muted his own loud moans against Aziraphale’s naked skin as he finally allowed himself to come, sunk deep in Aziraphale’s body, imagining how it could’ve looked without a condom, the white seed trickling out of Aziraphale’s open, wet hole—

When he slid out with an obscene, wet noise, Crowley sagged on his knees, feeling almost like his life force came out along his cum.

“…You alright?” he roughly asked after long seconds only filled by their breathing, caressing Aziraphale lower back. Aziraphale let out an indefinite noise. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

Aziraphale looked extremely, adorably drowsy as he let Crowley help him back onto his feet, toward the bathroom, standing by the sink and swaying with the air of someone who just experienced a very satisfying orgasm. Crowley chuckled, feeling more than a bit flattered as he threw the condom into the trash can.

Aziraphale leaned against his shoulder as Crowley cleaned off the residue of lube from his back side, rubbing his cheek against Crowley’s skin.

“I would’ve asked you if you wanted to go back home, but I have the feeling my very, very close bed is a more inviting option,” Crowley commented softly, pressing a kiss on those impossibly soft, light blonde curls. Aziraphale hummed.

“If that’s alright with you,” he then added, very sleepily.

“Mi casa es su casa,” Crowley said, stealing another kiss before guiding his angel back on the bed.

They both fell asleep the instant their heads touched the pillow, fingers entwined.

—

When Aziraphale woke, he had a series of slow, belated realizations.

He was in a bed not his, and it was insanely comfortable. He was very, very warm, and there was a body pressed right against his burning up like a furnace. His backside was sore in that pleasing way that suggested he had a very, very fun night.

He blearily blinked. The pale blue light he could see outside of the windows suggested it was extremely early in the morning, and it took his sleepy mind some seconds to connect the dots.

Right. He went with Crowley— This curious, kind stranger who looked at Aziraphale, immediately saw what the problem was, and did what he could to solve it. This soft spoken and yet brash man, with hair like a mane of fire and eyes the colour of honey. This incredible, attractive person snoring gently against Aziraphale’s neck, an arm thrown around his belly, almost reminiscent of a child clutching at their stuffed toy in their sleep.

Aziraphale let out a long breath, relaxing. He felt— At peace, in this quiet, beautiful flat, enjoying the warmth of Crowley’s skin against his back. He would’ve loved to just stay there and never move, but, well—

Nature call, and all that.

When he came back from the bathroom, padding mutely on naked feet and climbing back into bed, he found a pair of unfocused, very sleepy amber eyes looking up at him.

“…Morning?” Aziraphale whispered tentatively, kneeling on the mattress, not quite sure if he’d still be welcome now that they were both rested and awake.

“Mmmh— Too early—“ Crowley muttered, voice rough, but smiled at him. He threw an arm out. “Cold. Come back here.”

Aziraphale let out a tiny breath he didn’t knew he was holding, and slid right back to Crowley’s side, covering the both of them. Crowley hummed appreciatively, nuzzling blindly against Aziraphale’s collarbone.

“How can you be cold?” Aziraphale asked, the question shifting into a yawn. He definitely felt like he could sleep a lot more. “You run as hot as the fires of hell—“

“Yeah— But I’m cold either way,” Crowley mumbled, hanging onto Aziraphale’s entire body like a limpet, winning a small laugh. “Soft. Warm,” he added, almost too muffled to be understood.

Aziraphale let out an amused breath through his nose, closed his eyes. He felt like he could sleep some more, but…

Crowley’s sharp angles digging into him, his impossibly hot skin, the way his lips rested against his neck, warm breath caressing the vaguely moist skin—

Recalling how amazingly good Crowley made him feel the night prior—

“Angel,” Crowley grunted, muted against him. “Really?”

“You’re quite fetching, my dear,” Aziraphale tried to justify himself, voice tremulous. Crowley laughed through his nose.

“I know how I look like in the morning. A scarecrow, more like,” he then said, leaning back and looking down at Aziraphale with a sleepy, yet interested gaze.

Aziraphale would respectfully disagree with that. Yes, Crowley’s long hair was messy, but it was quite an artful mess— And when Aziraphale sunk his hands through those red locks, Crowley leaned into him like a cat.

“What should I do with you?” he murmured, nuzzling Aziraphale’s palm as he slid a leg between Aziraphale’s, his slender thigh rubbing against Aziraphale’s erection.

“You could fuck me again,” Aziraphale found himself saying, before thinning his mouth into a line, two red spots appearing on his cheeks. Crowley glanced at him.

“…You want that?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale admitted in a whisper.

“You sure it won’t hurt you?”

“I’m— I’m a bit sore, but it’s alright— I— I want it—“

“Christ,” Crowley laughed, rough. “You’re going to be the death of me, Angel.”

_It would be a fine death_, Crowley found himself thinking some minutes later, as he slid back into Aziraphale’s hot body, still open and ready from the last night. As he lazily swayed into him, Aziraphale’s legs circling his waist, arms circling his shoulders, tipping his head back and releasing beautiful, beautiful noises of unabashed pleasure. _It would be a fine death_, he thought, as they went at it lazily, with little messy kisses gifted to each other’s necks and shoulders, with soft movements bringing them to a climax that was less frantic than their first one, but not any less pleasurable.

—

The second time Aziraphale woke up his backside stung quite a lot more, but still not enough to make him regret the bout of ‘four in the morning lazy sex’.

He kneeled slowly in Crowley’s bed, looking around. The light pouring in from the windows facing the courtyard was far brighter, suggesting it was a more reasonable time of the day. He was also alone in the bed.

He blinked at the thermos sitting on the nightstand, with a bright pink post-it sticking to it. He peeled it off, reading.

_‘Angel,_

_Had to open up shop. There’s coffee in the thermos, but if you don’t like it, I have tea in the pantry. Help yourself to whatever it’s in there and in the fridge, I’m sure you must be famished after last night _ ♥

_I wasn’t sure if your clothes needed to be hand washed, so I just took care of your underwear. Hope that wasn’t too much, but I always hated having to wear a day old underwear in these situations, so I imagined the prospect mustn’t have been nice for you, either. Everything is in the bathroom, along with some towels, if you want to shower (watch out, the hot water is a liar. It will scald you if you put it on max)_

_Take your time, I’ll be waiting for you in the shop_

_C._ ى‘

Aziraphale blinked at the note, feeling a strange sensation at the start of his throat as he re-read it three times. Sensation that increased as he reached the part where Crowley wrote that he washed Aziraphale’s underwear -_silly, thoughtful and incredibly kind_-, as he re-read Crowley’s invite to take all the time he wanted, as he glanced at the silly, snake-like scribble near the initial—

He put it down on the nightstand gingerly, debating with himself if it would be weird taking the little note away with him once he’d leave…

He put that thought aside, for the moment, padding into the bathroom. His clothes were indeed there, orderly folded in a little pile near the sink, underwear which indeed smelled of clean laundry on top of it. The pile of towels near them were incredibly soft to the touch, and Aziraphale marvelled not without a bit of jealousy about Crowley’s roomy shower box, deciding to enjoy the luxurious shower as much as he could.

(Crowley was right. The water tried to scald him.)

He decided not to be too nosy and ignore the framed pictures as he munched on a toast with jam, once back in his slightly rumpled clothing. But he did take his time looking at the painting hanging above the bed, which did not depict just a snake on a tree, but actually seemed to be reproducing the biblical scene of the serpent tempting Eve into biting the apple, if the hand depicted in the act of picking the bright red apple was anything to come by.

In the end, cleaned, clothed and fed, Aziraphale felt like he had no choice but to face the inevitable. He put on his shoes, sitting on the bed, and caught something out the corner of his eyes once he sat back up after tying his shoelaces.

There was a very visible, quite extensive spot of dried come at the feet of Crowley’s beautiful, night-blue comforter, right where he—

“Oh, good lord,” Aziraphale muttered, blushing furiously and hiding his face in both hands. He supposed he really ought to leave some money to Crowley to have that cleaned properly— He just hoped the bills he currently had would be enough.

In the end, feeling slightly sick -maybe he shouldn’t have eaten anything, after all- and very sure he had long overstayed his welcome, Aziraphale stepped into the tiny corridor that connected the flat to Crowley’s shop, mopily staring at the floor as he stepped back into the small, urban jungle.

“Oh, there you are!” Crowley exclaimed cheerily, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but look up. He was back into his darkened glasses, hair neatly combed into the same bun he wore the past night. He was wearing another skin-tight shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a brown apron on top of it. “I was starting to get worried.”

_Fuck, he’s so pretty_, Aziraphale thought desolately, feeling like an idiot. He forced a smile, which probably looked pathetic, going by the confused look he received.

“I’m quite alright… Thank you for— Huh, for letting me stay and— For washing my things, and the coffee—“ Aziraphale stammered, nervously pulling at the hems of his waistcoat. “Sorry for waking up so late and about— About, um— Your bed. About the mess. I left you some money on the kitchen counter for the trouble—“

“Wha— Wait, hold on,” Crowley interjected, after releasing some inarticulate noises. “You are speaking like you are about to get out that door and I’m never going to see you again. And I actually wanted— Well, unless you have to go to work, which in retrospect I should’ve probably asked you about before letting you sleep until noon, but, um— I was hoping we might go to lunch, actually.” Crowley babbled, sounding strangely nervous. When he finished he awkwardly pulled at a tuft of his red hair falling on his shoulder, giving out an almost childish feeling of indecisiveness.

Aziraphale stared.

“I don’t have to work today,” he then said, after some long seconds of silence. “I’m— You really want to go to lunch? With me?”

“Well… Yes,” Crowley replied, sounding slightly more hopeful. “If you want, I mean.”

“Why?” Aziraphale asked, instinctively, and Crowley frowned.

“Angel,” he then said, slowly. “You… Angel, I found an excuse to give you my number. And cuddled you. And said things which I very much meant— And, well, I thought I was being rather clear about the fact that I really like you, and would’ve liked to keep seeing you, sex or not.”

“…Oh,” Aziraphale exhaled in a tiny, tiny voice. The vague sickness he’s been feeling in the depth of his stomach turned into a fluttering of butterflies. “Really?”

“Really,” Crowley confirmed, giving him a crooked smile. “And, for the love of all that is holy, go right back to the kitchen and put your money back in your wallet. Finding that there would make me feel like a cheap whore.”

Aziraphale blushed furiously, pouting as Crowley laughed. “That wasn’t my intention! I was just trying to be courteous, have you seen the state your comforter is in?”

“Oh, yeah. Looked like a pollock— I was thinking about hanging it on the wall—“ he laughed again in front of Aziraphale’s expression. “I’m just teasing you, Angel. I can chuck that into the washer and get the rest dry-cleaned if necessary, it’s fine.”

Aziraphale huffed and puffed, but in the end he could not resist. Crowley’s laugh was contagious.

“So, lunch? There’s a place nearby with heavenly sushi if that is in your tastes.”

“Oh, I love sushi,” Aziraphale replied with a large, sincere smile, winning one back. “Very well, then, I’ll— Be right back in a minute.”

As he went back into Crowley’s flat, to collect the bills he left on the counter with a blush and a small smile, Aziraphale felt his phone buzz. He checked it while he stepped into the shop as Crowley closed the till and turned the sign on the door on closed. When he groaned, Crowley turned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I cannot believe it—“ Aziraphale muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s James— The guy I was supposed to meet with last night.”

“Oho,” Crowley grinned a dangerous grin, slinking himself up to Aziraphale in a very snake-y manner. “What is he up to?”

“Apologizing for missing our date yesterday— Apparently, and I’m loosely quoting, he had organised another tinder date with someone else for the same day and hadn’t realised— Is that supposed to be endearing?”

“Wanker,” Crowley commented, plucking the phone out of Aziraphale’s hand again, looking down at the messages.

**srry abt yesterday, got another tinder date at the same time and didn’t notice lol**

**but the guy was a total letdown, bet I would of been better with u**

**ur such a cutie : ) if ur free want to meet tonight? I’ll make it up to u! promise!**

“Angel— I really thought someone like you would have some standards.”

“I know… I have to say I have been trying to brush aside his appalling typing, telling myself his attractiveness might make up for it but— I’m finding it a bit harder now, to forgive that.”

“Mmmh— Alright, he looks nice, I’ll give you that,” Crowley conceded, swiping through the profile pictures. “Still, we can’t have him bothering you with this _appalling typing_, can’t we?”

“What do you— Mmpph!”

Crowley grinned to himself, as he sent the picture over. It was quite nice, and the tongue he just stuck into Aziraphale’s mouth (who was currently looking quite flustered and pleased at the same time) as he snapped the selfie was very visible. The reply came fast.

**Wtf**

_You lost the train, mate. Too bad, so sad. He’s mine now, byeeee_ ~

**wait a sec who tf r u**

“Really, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, peering at the screen over his arm. Crowley grinned.

“Just making things clear. Want to add anything else?”

“No, that is quite enough, I’d imagine. If you can, could you delete that application for me? I rather think it has become unnecessary.”

Crowley complied, the grin widening. He gave the phone back, sliding the apron off of himself and launching it unceremoniously on the counter, opening the door for Aziraphale with a little flourish. Aziraphale stepped out, chuckling.

“If I may—“ he then said, suddenly rising a hand after Crowley closed the shop door with a key turn, fingertips grazing Crowley’s cheekbone and sliding along his temple. He traced the little shape of Crowley’s snake tattoo, looking focused. “I have to admit I am— Curious about all the snake symbolism, my dear.”

Crowley tried not to show how being called ‘my dear’ by this beautiful, soft, angelic man he had the luck to stumble into was doing to his insides, and chuckled. “It’s quite a long story, I’ll tell you over lunch.”

“I look forward to it,” Aziraphale smiled, offering his arm, eyes twinkling when Crowley promptly hooked his fingers into the crook of his elbow.

They walked, the both of them knowing in their future there would be more than just a single lunch together.

End!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://nohaijiachi.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/NohaVale)


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